


I Named You Like a Prayer

by missfeministfangirl



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, Collars, Dom/sub, F/M, Femdom, Spanking, discussion of puppy play, post 1.09
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-01
Updated: 2013-05-01
Packaged: 2017-12-10 03:45:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/781391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missfeministfangirl/pseuds/missfeministfangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fill for a prompt on the kink meme asking for Lagertha/Athelstan dom/sub and aftercare. Set after the finale cus after that episode, Lagertha deserves it. Also I'm kinda mean to Ragnar, but I'm still angry at him so. Set in the same timeline as my other Lagertha/Athelstan fic A Loyal Servant, but can be read as standalone. Also in my mind Athelstan is beardless. self betad. Title from the song New Ceremony by Dry the River.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Named You Like a Prayer

It was his idea to try again, which almost surprised her.

Lagertha had felt herself fading away ever since Ragnar had sent Floki and Bjorn back with a message. Ever since she had learned that he would be staying away while he fought against Jarl Borg, that he would not even be returning to Kattegat before the first battle to say goodbye, to say anything to her.

Ever since she had learned that he would be staying with _her_.

So soon after Gyda’s death it had hit her like a slap across the face and had threatened to bring her to her knees. She knew he was imperfect, flawed, but no matter how much he flirted or how far away he went on raids she had always had faith that he would return to her, had even, in her more sentimental moments, imagined that they would die side by side, fighting, swords flashing in the light.

But now he was not coming back.

And so she went about her duties in Kattegat. In its own way it was a relief, to be able to hear and deal with other peoples problems all day, solvable problems, than to dwell on her own. Bjorn sat at her side as she listened to complaints about stolen chickens and how so-and-so owed this person two pieces of silver. She had told her son that he could leave if he wished but he seemed determined to remain beside her and truth be told she was glad for it. Her son kept her strong.

That and the steady presence of Athelstan standing beside her.

He had been more of a support to her than anyone else in the past few weeks, constantly by her side. He had become her shadow She felt his eyes on her sometimes, watching, worrying, trying to anticipate what she would need. It was sweet.

Yet despite his efforts she still felt like she was…fading away. Like she was slowly wasting away and turning into a ghost, a shade, some half invisible, incorporeal version of herself. And she was beginning to feel there was nothing that could change that, not even the priest’s kind, sympathetic eyes.

Which was why when he came to her one night of his own volition, she was surprised.

When he knocked on her chamber door she was sharpening her sword. She had had little use of it of late, but she couldn’t bring herself to let such a beautiful weapon become dull and rusted.

“Enter.” She said.

He obeyed and the look of slight anxiety on his face made her curious. But there was something else there, something more than just nervousness. It reminded her of the way he had looked when she and Ragnar had first asked him to their bed. He had blushed and clutched his precious holy book, but this time his hands were behind his back holding something she couldn’t see. Before she could ask, he spoke.

“I’m not interrupting I hope?” he said, nodding towards the sword resting across her knees. She rose from her chair and laid it on the table.

“No.” she said, still gently fingering the pommel, “I only keep it clean out of habit. I’m afraid the kinds of enemies I have these days cannot be vanquished with steel.”

Athelstan’s mouth turned up in a sad smile at her words.

“I…came here tonight to…” he began, but stopped, swallowing heavily and shifting from foot to foot.

“Speak.” She urged him, “What do you want?”

“To help you. To make you happy.” He almost blurted out.

“I am fine, Athelstan”

“No. You are not.”

His direct contradiction surprised her and he bowed his head, clearly thinking he had overstepped.

“Forgive me,” he said, “I only meant that I know you are unhappy. And it hurts me to see you this way when I have known you otherwise. I just want to help you.”

“And how do you propose to do that?” Lagertha asked.

“You let me serve you once—in a way I had never imagined would bring me such…pleasure. Such peace. Please, let me serve you again. Let me bring you peace if I can.”

Lagertha hesitated. She could not say she wasn’t tempted. She remembered the last time they had done this, with Athelstan kneeling before her as she sat on the Earl’s throne, his mouth on her…

And then Athelstan pulled a length of rope from behind his back.

It was thick and sturdy and had been tied in a loop to create a leash. The exact same kind he had been wearing when he had first come to them.

She felt her heart skip a beat and, yes, a rush of pleasure between her thighs as well. He held out the rope to her.

“You truly want this?” she asked, standing to take the rope from him

“Yes, my lady.”

And it was those two words, that title said so lovingly that convinced her.

“Take off your clothes.” She ordered.

Athelstan’s eyes lit up and he obeyed. Lagertha let her fingers roam lightly over the newly revealed skin of his torso as he undressed.

When he was finally bare she slipped the circle of rope over his head and settled it around his neck, tightening it just enough so it pressed against his skin but not to hurt him.

“Kneel.”

He sank to his knees and Lagertha stepped back to admire her handy work. He looked beautiful and tempting with the rope against his pale neck, on his knees, his hands behind his back. She held the other end of the rope in her hand and hooked two fingers underneath his chin and tilted his head back to look at her. She bent down and kissed him, drawing the kiss out, savoring the taste and the feel of his full lips against hers. She could feel him straining towards her, struggling to remain kneeling while craving her touch. When she pulled back his lips were red and he had a hungry look in his deep blue eyes.

“You look like a loyal dog,” she commented, tugging on the rope enough that he would feel it. He let out a small whimper at her words.

“Is that what you would like? To be a treasured pet?” she asked, running her fingers through his hair, “Would you like to follow at my heels all day, to lay at my feet when I speak to the people, to eat scraps from my hand, to sleep at the foot of my bed? Would you wish that?”

“Yes, my lady.” He said, and he sounded so earnest that she cupped his cheek gently.

“Sweet Athelstan.” She murmured. The praise made him close his eyes for a brief moment and lean into her hand. He pressed several frantic kisses to her palm. An idea struck her and she pulled her palm away quickly.

“Did I say that you might kiss me?” she asked in the same tone she used when settling a dispute amongst the townspeople. Athelstan’s eyes snapped open.

“No, my lady, I’m sorry.”

“Perhaps you should be punished.” She said, circling around to stand behind him. “After all, a good dog needs to learn obedience.”

“Yes, my lady, please, I---”

“Bend over.”

He did, coming onto all fours and when she tugged just right at his leash(for surely that is what it was) his head tilted up and his back moved into a beautiful arc, like the soft bend of a supple young sapling.

“Spread your legs.”

When he did it presented his arse so temptingly she can’t help but run a hand over it. Athelstan pressed up, following the movement.

And then she brought her hand down hard and he squirmed and moaned underneath her. She tugged on his collar a little as a reprimand.

“Stay still.”

When the next slap came he did, although(to her delight) the effort of staying still made him even louder. Every time she brought her hand down it was as though the sound was pulled from him.

When she was done his cheeks were pink and warm underneath her fingers. She teased the tender flesh for a moment and Athelstan looked back at her, his wide, beautiful eyes were slightly wet, though from pleasure, pain or desperation she could not tell.

She brought their foreheads together.

“You did so well for me.”

She could feel her heart beating fast now and she moved to the bed, pulling him along behind her. She took off the light shift she had been wearing and threw it to the floor. She pushed him back so he was sitting against the headboard and then arranged herself so she was sitting in his lap, her back pressed flush up against his front, her legs spread wide. She kept hold of the leash, although it could hardly bring him any closer to her now.

“Touch me.”

It was a command he was more than eager to obey. The moment the words were spoken he brought his arms around her, running his hands over her, smooth caresses that make her sigh in contentment. His hands roamed over the soft flesh of her thighs, the tender sensitive skin of her stomach; he took her breasts, cupping them gently and teasing her nipples while he kissed her neck.

Eventually his hands settled, one holding her close around her middle, occasionally reaching up to toy with a nipple, the other between her legs. He had such lovely hands and he had learned well how to please her with them. He ran his fingers up and down her slit, teasing her lips and, she suspected, enjoying the feeling of her wetness.

“Does this mean I have pleased you my lady?” he asked, and she thought she heard a playful lilt to the question. Yet when she turned her head he was all innocence and quiet smiles, except for a twinkle in his eye. Her grip on his collar tightened.

“Yes. But it would please me more to come.”

His hand sped up, moving up to stroke at the nub of flesh that always set her afire. He moved his fingers over it in circles, pausing sometimes for the briefest moment to press against it, as though he were kissing it with his fingertips; he moved faster and faster as her breathing sped up  and her hips moved to meet him.

When she came his other arm tightened around her and she shivered, the feeling of safety, of being held tight as she bucked up into his hand only increasing her pleasure. His fingers remained with her as the pleasure ebbed, his touch lightened until she pushed him away.

She turned around and pressed his legs wide, feeling pleasantly lightheaded and flushed. She took hold of his cock stroked him, thumbing at the head. He pressed his face into her neck, overwhelmed. Then she reached down just far enough to part his cheeks, which she knew must still be tender but the gasp he gave at her first touch was nothing compared to the one he gave when she pressed her finger against his hole, circling it gently. He came making the most beautiful sounds, pressing them into her skin like a gift.

He had a dazed look on his face when she finally pulled back and loosened the rope enough to take it off of him. His eyes followed her almost as though he were hypnotized. She threw the rope to the floor and when she turned back she noticed something that made her breath hitch.

There were two red lines on either side of his neck where the rope had bitten in. She touched them gently, regret in her eyes. She had not meant to truly hurt him.

“It is fine,” he assured her and the look of contentment and bliss on his face seemed to say he spoke the truth.

Nevertheless she got up from the bed to try and find something to tend to them with. When her legs wobbled she looked back at him with a grin.

“You have pulled my legs out from under me Athelstan.” She joked.

“Apologies.” He answered, although the pride in his smile belied his words.

She searched until she found a small bottle of salve she used for small cuts and bruises. When she settled back on the bed he bared one side of his neck to her happily, and then the other, letting her spread the soothing cream on his reddened skin. It must have hurt, yet he seemed to be practically purring as she tended to him.  When she was done he even flipped over to let her take care of his backside. When she was done she stood kneeling above him, her hand having found her way to his hair again, contemplating for a moment.

“Why are you so good to me this way?” she asked, trying to encompass what they had just done, the pleasure it had brought but also so many other things, his loyalty, his steadiness, the fact that he had stayed when so much else in the world had turned against her, when her gods had punished her, when her husband had abandoned her.

“Because I wish to be.” He whispered, looking up at her.

In the face of so simple an answer and the depth of his gaze upon her she could say nothing. She simply pulled the furs over them, lay down and shifted until they were pressed closer. She left eh fingers of one hand tangled in his hair, unwilling to let the silken locks go just yet. He took her other hand in his and pulled it to his chest, as though afraid she might slip away in the night. She could feel his heartbeat through the back of her hand.

When her eyes finally closed, it was to the most peaceful sleep she had had in a long time.


End file.
